


No Place for Remorse

by Jaywings



Category: Little Nightmares (Video Game)
Genre: Flashbacks, Gen, Illustrations, Midquel, Takes place post LN2 and VLN but pre LN
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-19 08:34:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29871978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaywings/pseuds/Jaywings
Summary: There are rules that must be followed to survive in this world: "Make no noise. Hide your face. Trust no one. The monsters are everywhere." Six excels at all of these. And she has a rule of her own, as well: anyone who hurt her would regret it.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29





	No Place for Remorse

**Author's Note:**

> A new fandom for me to wrap my very long arms around! I haven't played the games myself yet, but I watched playthroughs of them, and Six as a character fascinates me. This story is an attempt to filter all of my thoughts into some kind of narrative. Thanks for checking it out! (Spoilers for Little Nightmares 2)

Kind people didn't last long here. She knew that because there weren't any left.

She'd thought there was one, once. But he was long gone now.

_Eyes staring up at her, shining in pale pinkish light, wide with fear, confusion, hurt._

_But she was hurt, too..._

She sat on the edge of some building's roof, rain dripping down her coat, bare legs dangling over the side, her heels bumping and scraping the wall. Hunger pains clawed at her stomach, the way they had for days now. She would eat, and the pain would disappear for a little while—but then it would come back stronger than ever, sometimes bending her double in agony.

Her hand found a glass bottle left on the roof. It was empty, thrown away like everything else around here when it wasn't useful anymore. It made sense—it was pointless to carry around useless things, when all that mattered was surviving.

It was even stupider to keep things around that hurt you.

She drew back her arm and flung it forward, watching the bottle go spinning down toward the empty streets below. She listened for the sound of it breaking. It was too far away.

" _Ah!_ " Six hadn't meant to cry out, because making the slightest noise could attract _them_ , but the burst of pain had felt like an animal was tearing at her stomach from the inside. Her teeth ground against each other and she clutched her stomach, her toes cramping tightly against her feet and her heels beating harder against the building's wall, until they drew blood.

_Move!_ a voice seemed to whisper at the back of her mind. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the shadow—hazy, flickering just at the edge of her sight, but exactly her size. The shape of its head even looked like the hood of the raincoat that she kept over her head at all times. _Somewhere else. Somewhere safe! Must survive!_

_I'm trying_ , she replied silently, climbing back to her sore feet. A dark cloud was trying to seep over her mind, her heart, and she fought against it. She wouldn't give in. She wouldn't, she _couldn't—_ she couldn't be like them again. Not again.

Once again, she limped forward, not really knowing what she was looking for anymore.

She'd looked through every inch of this place for anything to eat. Everything had already been eaten by rats or crumbled into mush, and the rats were too fast to catch while she was so weak. If she knew how to set a trap, it would be different.

A thought struck her: she was too exposed up here. Back down to the ground, into the shadows—that's where she needed to go, and maybe she'd be lucky and find something to eat. Her bare feet slapped against the wet rooftop, the edges of her yellow coat flapping behind her knees. She gripped her hood, pulling it lower over her face.

_The ones who survived always covered their face._

It had taken a little while to learn that. It wasn't a guarantee, as she'd seen over and over again, but it was better than showing your face to a world that _hated_ you.

She could hardly believe it when she'd found the yellow coat, lying on the ground like it was waiting for her. Like it had followed her all the way from the clifftop house, because she was the one who was supposed to wear it now.

The memory of that place frightened her more than she'd thought it would. She'd learned many things from her experience there: that everyone in this world wanted to stuff her in a cage, that you only worked together if you were in the same place with the same goal.

That trying to help someone would only end up hurting them in the end.

That you never went back for anyone.

And you _always—_ always, always, _always_ —made sure that the monster was dead.

_A door slammed in her face, ignoring her frantic pounding._

The other girl had understood these rules. She was a good teacher. She'd taught her how to survive. The boy had tried to teach her kindness, and instead taught her to be vicious.

_His eyes shining in the pale pink light, face stretched with fear and pain_ — _she saw it clearly for the first time. He'd thrown away his paper bag. Maybe that had lost its use, too._

_The only ones who survived were the ones who covered their face._

She'd watched him fall. She wondered if he was alive.

No. She'd watched the girl fall too, and found her body dashed against the rocks later.

_Always make sure the monster is dead_.

She'd made a promise to herself in the cliffside house—anyone who hurt her would regret it.

She came to a stop, toes pointed inward, hands clenched at her sides, head bowed with raindrops bouncing off her hood. She'd been walking along the broken sidewalk in the shadows of buildings. It was quiet here, other than the rain. Of course, she'd seen the bodies falling. Everyone in this city was already dead. The city was dead.

Maybe it wasn't so bad here…

Oh, no. No, it was definitely bad.

She was on the outskirts of the city now, so far away that she could barely even see the harsh light of the signal tower. She still refused to look at it. Her main plan so far was to get far enough away that it would look like just another faint star on the horizon. And then she'd keep running.

She was so sick of being captured. So sick of running. Sick of finding something she thought she could trust, only to be disappointed or, once again, hurt.

And hungry. So hungry.

She clasped her stomach in pain again as it growled, cramping, and she winced.

_Faster_ , she thought. _Have to go faster to find food_.

Her foot hit the ground wrong and twisted under her, sending her staggering into a trash can. The bin toppled over, spilling its contents over the ground and a mass of buzzing flies into the air. She scrambled into a sitting position, lifting her foot to examine it from every angle she could. She let out a soft breath—it was okay, maybe a little sprained, but not dislocated and twisted out of shape.

_Shuffling across the floor… music playing, calming music, music that would make everything all right as long as it kept playing, as long as she kept cranking the handle with huge stiff hands, which felt more like fins or like wood…_

Her hands, small as they had always been, crossed over her chest and gripped her upper arms tightly. They were bone-thin.

Those memories were hazy, and fading with every day, but they still made her shudder, her hands crashing over her ears, her twisted mouth uttering a sharp cry. Chills clawed their way up her back and she scrambled to her feet, her teeth clamping down over her tongue.

_Get out. Get out. Get out of here._

She was already running.

Until she spun back around, her stomach rumbling again and a sour odor catching her nose and causing it to wrinkle. Glancing down, she noticed the spilled trash can and the remnants inside it. She barely noticed her knees slamming the ground, her hands diving into the muck. _Something. Anything!_

Her clammy fingers found a hard lump of bread, becoming damp in the rain. Leaning back on her heels, she tore into the bread with her teeth, giving a small sigh. It was gone almost as soon as she'd found it.

The glitchy black shadow stood nearby, watching. Never speaking. She wished it would go away.

_I look like a rat_ , she thought in amusement as she backed away from the trash, wiping off her mouth with her lanky hair falling in front of her face. All the children she'd known looked and acted like mice and rats. Scruffy, unwashed and unloved, scattering at the light and hiding in the darkness that used to terrify them. You couldn't see what waited for you in the shadows. But then, if you couldn't see the monsters, then maybe they couldn't see you.

" _Psst! Hey!_ "

What was that?! The sound was like a surge of electricity in her brain, freezing her to the sidewalk as every one of her instincts screamed at once.

_Have to find him! He needs help!_

_It's not real, he's gone! It's your imagination!_

_He HURT me—_

_It's a trick! They're coming!_

_Don't go back!_

_HIDE! HIDE!_

_HIDE!_

In an instant she was moving, scrambling through the nearest window and crouching on the floor inside, breathless, listening hard past the pounding in her ears.

Nothing. It had been in her head. He was gone, after all.

She'd watched him fall.

She'd _made_ him fall.

Carefully, slowly, she drew her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them. A hot, sticky feeling burned away in her chest, and she swallowed hard to get rid of it. It didn't work.

_Trying to help someone would only hurt them in the end._

The boy had seemed like her, sometimes. And not like her at the same time. He ran and hid, too, just like her. He helped her and wanted her to think he was kind. But he was the one who pulled the shotgun from the wall, the one who pulled the trigger. Who smashed bullies' heads and those crawling hands, who pulled the switch to incinerate the wheezing, crawling "doctor" who chased them across the ceiling.

_Always make sure the monster is dead_.

Kind people didn't last long here. But that boy hadn't been one of them.

She remembered.

She hadn't had anything else to do, locked in the home of that man who wore the boots and had that shotgun. Nothing to do but listen to a stray music box and remember.

_Breaking through the undergrowth, stopping suddenly at a weird sight. A clearing, with a tree, and in the tree... a boy? He didn't show his face, his head covered with a paper bag cut with eyeholes, and he turned slightly to look down at her._

_A boy, out in the open, in the light, gazing up at the moon. She'd wondered if she should call out to him, warn him to hide from the monster behind her; before the recent memory of that other kid, that other monster, surfaced in her head again._

_She hadn't needed to call out, anyway. He saw her._

_He watched as she was caught and dragged away._

_She spent a month sitting in that room, in that house, with those_ sounds _, winding the music box. And remembering._

She was up again, pacing the length of the ruined house. She had to get out of this place, find somewhere else. Maybe another city, a better city. One without these stupid TVs.

_They fell backwards onto the floor—she'd managed to pull him out, but it was too late, because some... THING had appeared in the television static. She beckoned for him to run but he barely moved, and so she scrambled away from him, ducking into the nearest room and crouching under the table._

_He arrived a minute later, hiding under the bed. He brought that THING straight to them both, first letting it out of the TV and then leading it to where she was hiding._

_She tried to reach him. He just watched, again, hunched over with his ears plugged, while the THING grabbed hold of her. And—and—_

" _Hey!_ "

She sank into a dark corner, covering her ears.

They'd never said much more than that to each other. Children spoke in whispers and short sentences, barely a breath. Loud noises got you caught. Long sentences kept your attention away from your surroundings. Besides, there was no one to talk to, and nothing to say.

"Hey," Six whispered, hugging her arms.

Who was she talking to?

_Never look back._

She stood up abruptly, flexing her hands. The boy had watched her be snatched away again and again. He'd helped her when it suited _him_. (A month in that house!) He'd always ignored the rules that she'd learned with blood.

_Never go back for anyone._

_Trying to help someone will only hurt them in the end._

That last, scattered memory had been the last straw.

_Cringing back from a booming voice that seemed to come from everywhere at once, watching the object come crashing down on her music box over and over again—trying to get it to stop, to get HIM to stop. It hurt, but she was safe—she was lost, but she had the music—she was trapped, but nothing else would come after her here ever again—it HURT, and it was his fault—_

_And he'd smashed it. Like he'd smashed the bullies and the crawling hands. Dealt with her like he'd dealt with any other monster._

There weren't any happy endings here. Not for her, not for the boy with the paper bag, not for anyone. The best any of them could hope for was survival, at any cost.

" _Hey!_ "

She heard the voice again, but it was faint this time, hardly there at all.

" _Psst! Hey!_ "

"No." Six pulled the hood down lower over her eyes, shadowing them, blocking the voice from her head. " _No_."

Who _was_ she talking to?

No one. Not anymore.


End file.
